Trapped in the Dark
by UmPaDee
Summary: "Do you ever feel like you're trapped in a dark room, and no matter how hard you try, you can't find the light switch?" Rachel tries to tell Finn about her depression through a metaphor, but she doesn't think he'll figure out because it's Finn. The problem is he does, and he won't rest until her happiness is restored. Warnings for language & mentions of suicide.
1. Part 1

**Trapped in the Dark**

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><p><strong>AN: Revised to flow together in three parts. Grammar and bad wording fixed (to my best abilities). _Italics intended for metaphor/feelings/thoughts/past event._**

**Warnings for sensitive topics, and language.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Part 1 "The Metaphor"<strong>

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><p><strong>Rachel I<strong>

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><p>"Do you ever feel like you're trapped in a dark room, and no matter how hard you try, you can't find the light switch?" Judging from Finn's evident confusion, I guess that he hadn't.<p>

Then he gives me a hesitant smile. God, if he thought I was sort of weird before, he must think I'm a complete lunatic now. "You mean when we got trapped in the black box a couple weeks ago, because some idiot thought it would be fun to turn off the light."

_It happened unexpectantly. I thought it'd only be a few moments, a dark moment and nothing more._

_But then it was black, and I couldn't find the door, and I couldn't find the light._

_So I searched for the light, but as I looked, I went deeper and deeper into the darkness and further away from the light. It became darker as I searched, I could no longer see the outline of my shoes or finger tips. I was so afraid, so terribly frightened. You know you're in a dark place when you can't even see yourself._

_I tried to pretend everything was fine, so I kept laughing. I thought if I faked it enough, my amusement would become real, but it only made it worse. Because the room was so dark that even though nobody could see my tears, the only way to keep my sobs quiet was by laughing. They all must have thought I was so weird._

"Yeah," I smile back, "That was funny."

"Uh-huh," He scratches his nose, "I didn't like it."

"You didn't?" I look at him. He didn't seem too messed up about it.

"Well, no. I hated not being able to see where I was going. It got so frustrating."

I nod my head, realizing that he isn't getting it. I never expected him too. After all, he's Finn. But I wonder if he could, would he care? Still, I elaborate, some part of me pushing to share. "Yeah, I know what you mean. But I guess that it got to the point where I didn't care where I was going. It didn't matter."

There's an awkward moment before he erupts into a dissatisfied look of worry, "Rachel, is there something you're trying to tell me."

"No," I whisper before overshadowing it in my mind with a definite _Yes!_

"Okay…" he waits a little bit, "This sounds like one of your metaphors. Like the gold stars."

"Yes," I give Finn a dainty smile, "It's a metaphor, but, just, forget about it."

"You're freaking me out."

"What?" I shrug my shoulders, the emptiness filling up inside of me.

He showers my body with analytical stares, pausing at my eyes to pull out all the emotions, but he fails. "You're not acting like yourself Rachel. And it's not just now. I'm worried about you."

This shocks me, Finn's intuitiveness. The darkness beckons me back, and I shut down.

_As I went further into the unknown of the black, I couldn't find Finn. I couldn't find anyone. In the search, I'd pulled away from the group, and without their guidance I fell deeper and deeper into the abyss._ "I'm sorry Finn, just forget I ever said anything."

"Rachel…"

"Forget it!"

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><p><strong>Rachel II<strong>

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><p>Finn doesn't forget about our awkward conversation, and, once again, I've made a big mistake. Like always, I've messed up, done something wrong in a world where I can never do anything right.<p>

I try to evade his persistence, his overwhelming curiosity and kindness. "Come on, Rachel," he whispers into my ear, "Tell me what's wrong."

But he's with Quinn, and that means he's not mine to tell. I can't make him care or listen. I won't let him risk it all just so that I can let him know what a trainwreck I am. Not when his happines could be jeapordized. "Forget about it."

But he's stubborn and all to sympathetic. He ignores Quinn's evil glares and nasty smacks to lean over everyday and inquire about my well-being in an all too suspicious voice.

Still she gets her way, pulls him away when I need him the most. I shouldn't care. I should be used to this. _But now I'm stuck in the darkness alone._

_The glee club started calling out for each other. 'Finn' I whispered, but it was overshadowed by Quinn's shrill. He went to her, and suddenly the darkness seemed real. _

He continues to pester, and it takes him about a week before his efforts turn into his success, all to my dismay. He walks up to my locker one day with a big fat look of concern and pity plastered on his face. "Last night I went on this site called yahoo answers. Did you know you can just ask questions on the internet and people will answer them?

"Cool," I mumble trying to ignore him as I grab the world history textbook. He's too oblivious, so naive. I roll my eyes and slam my locker shut, my body glumly turning to the direction of my next destination. "Wait," his hand reaches out for my arm, and as I try to pull away I realize that his grip is abnormally strong. "We need to talk somewhere. It's important."

"I have to get to class," I snap at him, "Besides I couldn't care less about how you're going to cheat on you're homework."

Bewildered and genuinely hurt at my dwindling temperament, his hand falls. For a moment, I think he's speechless from shock, but then he says it. Five words "I figured out your metaphor."

"What?" I choke back.

"You're depressed," he says calmly.

"No... No... No..." I back away, "I'm not."

Finn squirms from the idea of premeditated tears. "Rach, let's talk somewhere else."

"No."

_It's so dark now, and suddenly the group realizes I'm all alone as everyone else begins to join together to find the light. My facade of a laugh begins to subside to my genuine distraught and worry. I'm immersed in the darkness, and I'm terrified of everything. For a moment, I think nobody cares, but I want them to. I want somebody to hug and comfort me because I'm starting to get worried. How long will this last? But when Finn starts calling for me, I recoil back onto the floor. I don't want any help; I'm afraid of making the situation worse. So I stay on the ground alone. I'm safer that way, I think._

"Then what were you actually trying to say?"

"Nothing," I huff, irratated, "Absolutely nothing; I was just really sad and fustrated that day. I didn't know what I was talking about."

"Yahoo answer says..."

But I ignore him. "They're wrong. You're wrong. Now just forget it."

"Here," he shoves some papers at me. I glance to see a pile of printed out web md information about depression and brochures, "Look at it."

"Whatever," I say. His triumph is apparent, and, as an act out of definace and embarrassment, I trash the papers as soon as I pass the first trashcan.

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><p><strong>Rachel III<strong>

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><p><em>Let me turn on the light.<em>

My heart flutters when I read his text. Finn's never been one for poetry, as his confusion over my metaphor displayed. But he'll play along to cheer up poor old me. He's so sweet, so kind, too kind.

I can't stand the pity. He shouldn't care; he shouldn't know. But now he does and it's my entire fault. A pang of guilt thrusts through my body. Will I ever be enough? Can't I just get it right?

I lay my head back into my pillow. I should respond, but I _don't_. A few minutes another buzz… Ignore it. I'm too tired, too empty to care. I want to, but I _can't_. I need to stop pushing him away. I imagine asking for his help, but I _won't_. _I don't. I can't. I won't. _

_Bzzz. Bzzz. Br-br-br-bring. Br-br-br-bring_. No answering the phone or responding to texts for Rachel Berry. I don't have the energy, the motivation.

_The light is off… gone. It's dark, but I've been trapped here too long so I just give up. There is no point in doing anything when I'll always be trapped in the dark._

_I was waiting for the light to turn on by themselves. I wasn't ready to get out of the darkness. I had gotten used to it._

I think about Finn, how amazing he is. Good grades, excellent football player, amazing personality, and extraordinary voice. He's blessed. And it doesn't hurt that he's cute and popular as well. But that's not what does it for me; it's his heart. He's a born leader with morals and talents that I'd pray for. He cares about people, even me.

Then I think about me, how awful I am. Okay academics, slushie-prone gleek, abrasive, conceited, and decent vocals. I'll try to forget my big NOSE, and how I'm universally hated. We'll be honest, I'm not always the kindest soul and often step on peoples toes to get to the top. What did he ever see in me?

Bzzz. Bzzz. My phone summons attention, but it is ignored.

I decide that I deserve my darkness and a life time of loneliness.

I do nothing.

I feel nothing.

I am nothing.

Knock on the door.

No response.

"Rachel?" Daddy's voice fills the air

No response. I don't have enough energy to talk, that's how pathetic I am. Because nowadays everything's a chore. I can't even talk. I can't even sing.

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah Daddy," I try to add the energy, the facade of happiness, back into my voice.

"Can I come in?" I turn on the light._ I don't want Daddy to know I'm in the dark. And some part of me doesn't want him to turn it on._

"Of course," I give him a big cheery smile as he opens the door.

"Your father and I are going to New York this weekend," he says, "Do you want to go? We can see Wicked?"

I look up at him. I should want to do this; I should be thrilled. I love Wicked; I love New York; I even love spending time with my dad's. But I feel nothing, like I'm numb. _Like I'm trapped in the dark._

"No," I shake my head, "School's been really busy. Next time."

"But Rachel…" He begins, and, after one look at my dead eyes, he gives up.

"Sorry." I mumble, guilt overwhelming me. The thought of agreeing to go crosses my mind, but I don't want to open my mouth again.

"It's fine, sweetie," he shifts his weight uncomfortably, puzzled as to what has become of me, his darling little girl. _You can't see me; it's too dark._

I hear my phone, begging to be answered. I see my dad, begging for his daughter to return to normalcy. And I feel the emptiness of my heart begging for the end.

"Shouldn't you answer that Rach?" he asks. No point in arguing, or shrugging it off. I don't want my dad to get any more suspicious than he already is.

So my hands move on to press the little green answer button. _Caller ID: Finn Hudson._

"Rachel!" Finn sounds ecstatic that I answer the phone. He shouldn't be; he shouldn't want to talk to me.

"Hey Finn," I say with far less enthusiasm, "So why were you trying to get a hold of me?"

"I wanted to make sure you were okay," he said, "Mr. Schu was kind of harsh on you in Glee today."

I gulp. Thinking about the glee coach's words, _Rachel stop being so conceited. You're not the only one who can sing. _I hadn't even said anything just raised my hand after Quinn preformed the solo she was doing for sectionals. I needed to go to the bathroom, but Mr. Schu always thought the worst of me and jumped to conclusions.

"I'm fine." _Complete lie._

"Really?" His voice is calm and sweet, "Because you didn't look fine when you ran off."

"I was just being dramatic."

"Rach…"

"Don't worry about it, Finn. I'm fine." He knows I'm not just talking about the incident but about life. The words _'don't worry about me'_ don't quite make it out of my throat, but they run through my head like a pride of lions, aggressive and unnerving.

"I know that's not true."

"Is this all, Finn? Because I don't want to waste my minutes." I mentally scold myself for my rudeness.

"No, I wanted to know if you could meet me at Breadsticks to talk." He rushes out his request, too eager and nervous to keep it in any longer.

I take in a breath, the 'no' moving to my lips. From the way he sputtered out his request, I can tell he predicts my answer. Nobody asks to hang out anymore because they know that I'll make up some phony excuse. "Sorry, Finn."

"Please, Rach."

So I agree, how could I not when he begins to practically beg me. "I'll use blackmail if you don't come," he eventually jokes, but I wonder if there is some truth to his threat.

As I go downstairs and jump in my car, I notice my dads' beaming at me from the kitchen window. I haven't exactly been a social butterfly lately, but then again I never have been. _And now they're thrilled to get rid of me._

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><p><strong> Rachel IV<strong>

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><p>I see him waiting at a booth with Puck and Kurt. As soon as the revelation dawns on me, I take a step back, wanting to leave. I need to escape this torment. I just can't handle people anymore. Puck, the boy whose douced me with slushies, and Kurt, the diva who always disses my clothes and steals my solos. I could get along with both of them at times, but right now I couldn't deal with more than one set of painful memories.<p>

But it's too late to escape because Finn sees me and waves me over.

"The ice queen didn't want him with you alone," Puck explains when he sees my confused face, "So you'll have to share Finnocence with Kurt and my Bad Assness."

"Whatever," I sit down in the empty seat next to Finn. This could be good, since I suspected Finn had wanted to talk about my depression, and he couldn't do that with Kurt and Puck present. But apparently I was wrong.

The beautiful redheaded waitress comes up and flirts with Finn and Puck a little as we order are drinks. It disgusts me how shamelessly she throws herself at them and how naturally they flirt back when they both have girlfriends. Kurt and I share accomplice-status smirks. _Awkward._

"So we think you need to start seeing Ms. Pillsbury," Finn shoots out as soon as the whore leaves to go grab our sodas. My heart beats, as my eyes dart to Kurt and Puck and, then, back to Finn. "They already know."

My stomach squirms and my cheeks burn a deep crimson color from embarrassment. "You told them?"

"Yeah…"

My knees buckle up and for a moment I can't move. I grit my teeth and in an all too aggressive manner I ask him: "Who else did you tell?"

Finn looks nervous as the smoke practically shoots out from my ears; I've turned into a fire breathing dragon. Rage overtakes my body, scorching every ounce of self-control I had left. "J-just glee club."

"I hate you," The words spit out before my brain fully processes it, and I dash out of the restaurant. _I've pushed him away. I need to be in the dark alone. No company. No help._

"Wait," He grabs my arm, "I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be a big deal. Glee club's a family; we're there to support each other."

"A family?" I try to hold in my tears, "Are families supposed to slushy each other, call each other names, hurt each other's feelings, and steal each other's boyfriends and girlfriends?"

"Rachel," his eyes look into mine, practically begging me to help him, "We're a team and sometimes we fight, but-"

"But what?" I look into his big dopey eyes, "Finn, I really care about you, and I think you care about me too. But for the rest of that club, this is just another opportunity for them to torment me further."

"They wouldn't do that."

"Yes they will," I say, "And this is why I didn't tell you."

"But you did? You told me that metaphor thingy."

"I didn't think you'd figure it out."

"Why not?"

"Because you're oblivious."

"Wait what does that mean?" Finn stops and I look up at his dopey eyes.

"It means that you need to forget about this; or you'll do more harm than good."

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><p><strong>Finn I<strong>

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><p><em>It means you need to forget about this, or you'll do more harm than good.<em>

Like a guy can just forget that his ex-girlfriend is depressed, and it's probably because of him. Quinn keeps telling me I should forget about it too. She tells me that I shouldn't care, but I do. I really like Rachel, I always have. We may not be going out, but that doesn't mean you just stop caring, right?

But Rachel may have point. I'm obviously not an expert at dealing with this. Every effort I've made in making her better has backfired. Maybe I should just pass off the baton to someone else, like Mr. Schue or Mrs. Pillsbury.

Except that Mrs. Pillsbury isn't always the best guidance counselor, and Mr. Schue isn't exactly Rachel's number one fan. Mrs. Holiday is unreliable and wouldn't take the issue seriously. Coach Beiste isn't nearly close enough with Rachel. Shelby would bring more pain than help. And I wouldn't even bother mom or Burt; they'd just pass it on to Mrs. Pillsbury or give me a talk and a hug.

So, that's how I end up sitting with both Mr. Berry's in their living room, while Rachel's away at dance class. It's difficult and, frankly, awkward to tell the two men my concerns about their daughter.

But the Berry's are nice about it. "We know," Leroy says softly. He's a nice guy and is the mild mannered one of the two. But he's clearly distraught and frustrated about what to do. "We've suspected it for a while now."

"We were hoping it was just a phrase," Hiram cuts in right after. I'm pretty sure he's afraid that I'm going to judge them as bad parents, or something like that. And he has reason to. People in this town are pretty nasty about their situation. 'Two gay dads shouldn't be fathers', 'they shouldn't push Rachel so much', 'they spoil her' and, the one I sometimes catch myself thinking 'it's irresponsible to leave your kid home so much.' Yes, I've heard all sorts of nonsense and advice from people who know nothing about their situation, and frankly it annoys me.

But as I stare at the two men, who despite my being Rachel's boyfriend at one point, I have only seen four times, I wonder if I'm judging them. Shouldn't they have realized that it wasn't just a phase a long time ago? Shouldn't they have done something by now? I want them to do something, I want them to know there is a real problem. "It's not a phase. She doesn't even sing in Glee anymore. She just sways in the background."

At this point, both of her dads appear visibly more worried. Their star in the background—Impossible!

"Finn," Leroy says, "We have a favor to ask you."

"What is it?" I can feel my heart beat a little faster, curious as to what it could possibly be.

"We do?" Hiram looks at Leroy and then me, clearly unaware of the favor, as well.

"Yes, we do. We're going out of town this weekend to New York. Could you maybe keep an eye out for her?"

"Sure, Mr. Berry," I give him a sad smile, wondering how trying to relinquish some of my responsibility landed me with more. But I guess it's whatever it takes to get Rachel better. _Because I love her. _Wait. No. No, I can't. I don't. I'm with Quinn. I don't love Rachel. I don't, or do I?

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><p><strong>Finn II<strong>

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><p>When I get home, Kurt bombards me with questions. He's almost as worried about Rachel as I am. "What did they say? What are they planning on doing?"<p>

"They're going to New York this weekend."

He flashes me a smile, "She'll love that. Broadway's the perfect way to cheer her up."

"It would be if she were going," I turn on the TV, so I don't have to talk about this anymore, but he doesn't get the message.

"Finn Hudson, what do you mean she's not going with them," He breathes, "You will not tell me they're leaving her alone when she's on the verge of a virgin suicide."

My body stiffens when he says that. 'Suicide'. Rachel wouldn't kill herself; she's just upset. She's smarter than that. She wouldn't do that to me, to any of us. I ignore Kurt's curiosity, and guide my feet back outside to my car. I need to see Rachel because now I'm paranoid.

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><p><strong>Finn III<strong>

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><p>I catch a glimpse of her brunette hair before it disappears into her car. I start to trail behind her, with just a silver Ford in between us. Maybe, it's wrong to semi-stalk her, but she was the one who taught me how to stake out in the first place.<p>

I try to calm down. Rachel's fine. She's not stupid. She won't commit suicide. _Then why am I following her?_

I'm doing it just in case there's a chance. And I know if I'm worried a little, I should tell Miss. Pillsbury or something, to make sure she's completely safe. But I told her dads, and the whole glee club knows, and nobody's had her committed, so it should be okay.

Then my cellphone rings, and Quinn's face shows up on my cell. I laugh gently realizing, I still haven't gotten around to changing her ringtone to something other than the wicked witch music from the Wizard of Oz. _Yikes!_ She'd kill me if she found out.

"Hey!" I say as soon as I pick up, but as soon as the word falls from my mouth I hear a muffle of yelling and sobs. _Great, crazy Quinn! What did I do wrong now? _"Wait, Quinn. I can't understand you."

"I know that you went to Man Hand's house!" she cries, "I saw you!"

"I'm sorry," I roll my eyes, "I had to tell her dad's about her… problem."

"God Finn!" I hear her voice turn into lecturing mode, "What did I tell you about forgetting about her? She's doing this for your attention. The more you try to 'comfort' her, the more you're encouraging her to keep holding on to her crazy school girl fantasy that you and her will be together forever."

"That's not true," my throat clenches as I turn the corner behind Rachel. I know that we're not headed in the direction of her house, so where is she going? "She's in a really dark place, right now?"

"She's not over you."

"She is."

"Fine, maybe you're right. Maybe she's finally done with that, but the question is are you?"

"I'm with you" I say hesitantly, but then Rachel pulls into a parking space and my mind turns to different matters. "Hey I gotta go. Bye."

"Finn, you better not hang up on me!" _Beep._

My eyes pop open when I see Rachel get out of her car, storming towards me. Apparently, I hadn't been nearly as stealthy as I thought I'd been. I open my door, only to hear her yell a scolding "Stop following me, Finn Hudson."

Before I can deny the truthful accusation, she's already backing I her car, driving off like a maniac.

I sigh, realizing my accomplishments for the day. Piss off Kurt, check! Piss of Quinn, check! Piss off Rachel, check! Now, if I could only be nearly as successful with my attempts to make Rachel better.


	2. Part 2

**A/N:**** The song Rachel sings is Sad Song by Christina Perri. Also these () represent Finn's thoughts that don't flow with the paragraph, but are still important. And, no, they don't represent my thoughts. LOL**

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><p><strong>Part 2 "The Incident"<strong>

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><p><strong>Finn IV<strong>

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><p>It's hard to focus the next day at school, not with Rachel in sweatpants. <em>(Although, it's usually hard for me to focus when she's wearing those skirts too.)<em> It's a rarity to see her in jeans, but baggy sweatpants? That's not Rachel, and you can tell that everyone is thinking that when Rachel stumbles into glee. I see Kurt's jaw clench and Mercedes' fling open. Artie's eyes widen and Tina literally gasps. Rachel Berry doesn't wear sweat pants, ever.

"2012," Sam says under his breath, "Maybe the world is really coming to the end."

"As much as I hated the argyle skirts, sweatpants just aren't you, Rachel." Kurt hums along. _(I can't completely agree with Kurt there. Those skirts show off Rachel in all the right places. Not in a creepy sort-of-way. It's just that she has the kind of legs I tend to picture wrapped around my body. Not that I do it all that much, but it's the kind of thing a guy can't help but notice.)_

"Why not?" Rachel's sudden irritation sends the group into visible alarm. Her voice is not Rachel. It's too mean and too emotionless, not the bubbly, drama-filled one that we're all accustomed too. Although, for the most part, it has noticeably dwindled down a lot in the last few weeks. _("The depression manifesting itself" is what Kurt said about it earlier. But all I know is that I miss the old her more than I can handle.)_

"You're Rachel Berry." Kurt says, taken aback, but all too matter-of-factly. "You own what you got, and sweatpants aren't owning it."

"Well I'm sorry if you don't think so Kurt," The sarcasm rolls off her tongue. "But I'm tired of you always criticizing what I wear. I'm tired of all of you always criticizing me. Nothing I do is ever right, and I'm so tired of it!"

Kurt grips his seat, he's in shock. His reaction isn't that different from everybody else's, except for Santana and Quinn's.

"Oh please!" Santana says, "You finally have one of your famous Rachel Berry outbursts and it's over _that_."

"She just wants attention," Quinn mutters in a voice that's meant for everyone.

Rachel turns red in the face. (Which I know doesn't mean she's mad because her lips aren't pursed, and her eyes aren't freakishly large.) And I can practically predict the tears, "S-sorry Kurt."

"No, I'm sorry Rach-,"Kurt begins to respond, but before he can finish she bolts out the door.

Artie nods approvingly, "I was actually starting to miss her storm outs."

My heart beats a little faster as I begin to comprehend what just happened. And then, within seconds, mass chaos breaks out. "What the fuck was that?" Puck storms over to Santana, "Why the fuck would you say that, when you know she's depressed."

From there I don't know what happens, just a lot of yelling and blaming, and Quinn rolling her eyes as if it doen't affect her. "Why would you say that?" I spit out in disgust.

"It wasn't a lie, Finn. She needs to know that I'm not letting her get away with this whole act. She's not depressed, she's just pathetic."

I scoff. _Like Quinn knows anything about being nice._ Standing up and moving towards the door. I don't have time to lecture Quinn because right now I have to make sure Rachel's okay. And she has to be okay. Everyone stops and looks at me, when Quinn stands up, "Finn, if you go after her, we're through."

I look at her admittingly pretty blonde hair and face with those evil eyes, and shake my head, "You're a Bitch."

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><p><strong>Finn V<strong>

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><p>My heart beats a little faster when I can't find Rachel in the hallways. It doesn't help that she's not answering my texts and calls. Suddenly it dawns on me that she might have left school after the incident. But when I get to the parking lot, I see that her car is still there. <em>(That should be a relief because she can't do anything too stupid at school. Right?)<em>

I take a deep breath and try to imagine where Rachel would go when she's upset. The old Rachel would go to the auditorium and sing her lungs out, but then again we weren't exactly dealing with the old Rachel. Maybe she's at the bleachers; she's gone there to cry a few times. Or maybe she's in the girl's bathroom, and if that's the case I'll need one of the girl's to check there.

Like clockwork, I get a text from Kurt. _Tina and Mercedez are checking the bathroom. Puck and I are checking the auditorium. Sam and Artie are heading towards the bleachers. _I smile, a little relieved that I'm not the only one who cares about her. Maybe, if she realizes that most of the glee club actually does like her, she'll feel a little better.

I check every classroom that I pass, searching for her. The words repeat in my head '_She has to be okay'. _And then I hear her voice, her beautiful, unwavering voice that has disappeared from Glee in the past few months. But there's something not right with it. There's too much hurt, and so I follow as it lures me to the auditorium. The pain is evident, too powerful to ignore. And, I know that she's not alright. I can practically hear the tears, the sobs prevalent in each of her breaths.

"_Today, I'm gonna write a sad song Gonna make it really long So that everyone can see That I'm really unhappy."_

As soon as I enter the auditorium, my heart breaks for her. I find myself standing in between Puck and Kurt, all paralyzed by her voice. We don't interrupt. Maybe we should.

_"I wish I wasn't always wrong I wish it wasn't always my fault The finger that you're pointing Has knocked me on my knees And all you need to know is"_

The tears fall down her face as the words escape her mouth. And Kurt lynches his hand around my arm, as if he's about to fall over.

_"I'm so sorry, it's not like me It's maturity that I'm lacking So don't, don't let me go Just let me know That growing up goes slow. _

_I wonder what my mom and dad would say If I told them that I cry each day It's hard enough to live so far away_

_I wish I wasn't always cold I wish I wasn't always alone When the party is over, How will I get home? And all you need to know is"_

I wonder if she realizes we're here, listening to the brute honesty of her words. But I know that she does not. She'd never show her vulnerability like this.

_"I'm so sorry, it's not like me It's maturity that I'm lacking So don't, don't let me go Just let me know That to grow up can go slow _

_If all the rules are meant to bend And you swore you were my friend Now I have to start all over again_

_Cause no one's going to take your place And I'm scared I'll never save All the pieces of the love we made."_

Suddenly, I'm forced to ask myself if this is my fault. Is Rachel depressed because of me? I start to move towards her as the tears fall more steadily down her face.

_"And I'm so sorry, it's not like me It's maturity that I'm lacking So don't, don't let me go Just let me know That I can slip and fall And you won't let me go Just let me know That growing up goes slow _

And I'm so sorry It's not like me It's maturity that I'm lacking So don't, don't let me go Just let me know That growing up goes slow"

When I reach the stage, and Rachel looks up after the last note, our eyes meet. "Rachel…" I begin, but it startles her. She lets out a defeated sob, and like a startled gazelle backs away ever so slowly.

"You shouldn't have heard that," she whispers. Then she looks from me to Kurt and Puck, the brims of her eyes overfilling with despair and frustration, "No one was supposed to hear that."

And then she takes off, bolting away, too afraid of confrontation. And I'm left trying to process the words of her song, wishing that this whole depression thing could just disappear.

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel V<strong>

* * *

><p>Blinded by tears, I make my way to the girl's bathroom to clean up. I just need to collect myself, and then I can go home. It will be nice to hide in the covers of my bed, to turn off the light, and go to sleep. So I hurry off, praying that Finn won't follow me. A small flicker of hope prays that they didn't hear the whole song, because if I thought Finn was acting a little stalker-esque before I know he'll double his efforts now.<p>

A part of me can logically appreciate Finn's concerns, and, at one point, all I wanted was for Finn to care about me, to give me attention. However, things have changed. I've changed. I don't enjoy things like I used to, and being with people has become somewhat exhausting. Having someone care is almost frightning, and, also, at the sametime, comforting. Still, isolation has taken over. It's easy that way-less people for me to hurt, less people to hurt me.

I press my body weight against the bathroom door, and lunge forward. I'm safe here. Or, at least I should be. It's not like Puck, Finn or Kurt can come in here. Well, Kurt might, but he probably won't. I sigh, moving towards the stall.

I take a deep breath, trying to stop my sobs. _Why do I always cry? Why do I always freak out?_ I'm just some giant cry baby. It's pathetic, really. I ram my fist into the bathroom wall, and hear a crack. I wheeze over in pain. Shit. I think I broke my hand. See, how pathetic I am.

I let out another sob as my hand starts to swell up. I can't actually move it either. And then I smile, a sadistic, sick, twisted smile._ Am I really finding pleasure in pain? _

I start to laugh; this whole thing is actually sort of hilarious. The whole situation is just so fucked up. And now I really can't stop because I've sworn in my head twice now in the last few seconds. I, Rachel Barbara Berry, am mentally cursing.

"Rachel?" I turn my head, to see two very disgusted, worried faces staring at me as if I've gone insane and I probably have. Once again, my preoccupations with my own self have led to my embarrassment. Why am I so chronically unaware of the people around me? My face turns bright red as Tina and Mercedes approach me cautiously. "Should we get Ms. Pillsbury?"

"N-no," I stammer. "I'm just a little upset. Don't worry about it."

"Rachel," Mercedes comes forward, "You're more than a little upset."

"I'm fine," I hiss, causing her to take a step back.

"No, you're not." Tina whispers, motioning to my hand, "And I think you broke you're hand."

"No, it's just a little bruise."

The two girl's give each other a look as if to say that I've gone crazy.

"Rachel," Mercedes repeats, "We're worried about you. You're not acting like yourself."

"And that's a bad thing? Aren't you glad about that? No more arrogant, conceited, know-it-all Rachel to steal the spotlight. You get all the solos now, and isn't that what you've always wanted?"

It's out of my mouth, before I can even comprehend the words I've said. I don't want them to think I'm any more psychotic than I already am. My already shoddy front is falling to peices like the Berlin Wall.

"Rachel…" Mercedes shakes her head, "Stop acting like this. You know that glee club loves you. Besides I miss the competition."

I choke back a sob, buffering sarcasm ever-present. "Glee club loves me? Are you insane? All you've ever done is bully and rag on me. You guys have been horrible to me. And the only reason you haven't all just kicked me out is because you needed my voice to win."

Neither, Tina and Mercedes respond; their eyes are cast to the floor. I don't wait around for a reply. Instead I rush out of the bathroom with my throbbing hand lingering by my side.

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel VI<strong>

* * *

><p>When I get out into the hallway, I'm cornered. On one end stands Finn, Kurt and Puck, on the other end is Sam and Artie. My only escape is the bathroom, and I know that Tina and Mercedes are still in there.<p>

I'm falling apart now if I wasn't already. It's a full on nervous breakdown, a panic attack like no other. And I can barely breathe. I've gone insane. I can't even manage to exhale. They try to calm me down. I use Artie's paper bag. They say "Just calm down Rachel", "It's okay", "Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out". It takes me a few minutes before I can finally comprehend what's happening, and, even then, I still can't contain a few tears or the embarrassment that has spread across my cheeks. And, in truth, most everything still seems just like a blur.

At some point, they get me to the nurse's office. She wraps up my fist and tells Finn that he needs to take me to the hospital right after I go have a chat with Ms. Pillsbury, and he agrees. I don't even try to argue. I'm that out of it, too embarrassed and emotionally worn out to comprehend anything.

But once inside Ms. Pillsbury's office, I realize the extent of my predicament. "She had a panic attack," Finn tells her, "She's been really depressed, and she basically freaked out on everyone when we tried to talk to her about it."

Ms. Pillsbury looks up for a moment as if she's in shock by this brute honesty. "Is that true Rachel?"

"If I say 'no' will it make a difference?"

Ms. Pillsbury looks away for a moment, clearly unsure about the situation. "Maybe this is a conversation we should be having alone?" She looks at Finn, and as strange as it may seem, I don't want him to leave.

"Wait," I say, holding my crumpled fist up, "My hand is killing me, and I'm afraid that if I don't get to the hospital soon there could be permanent damage. Could we please continue this meeting some other time?"

She looks at my hand cautiously, and nods her head. "Alright, well I suppose that's fair. But I want you to come straight to my office tomorrow. Okay?"

"Great," I shove out a fake smile. Maybe, I'll be able to convince her I'm fine. Maybe, I can get myself out of this self-inflicted mess.

* * *

><p><strong> Rachel VII<strong>

* * *

><p>The sounds of Finn's footsteps trailing behind me send chills up my back. His determination and stubbornness in regards to my current situation is somewhat flattering if not miserably misplaced. "Rachel!" He yells out, but I won't stop to talk. No time for meaningless chit-chat when the comfort of my dark room beckons me. I almost forget about my hand, the ecstatic throbbing of my knuckles catapulting through my body. "Rachel!" This time the voice is far closer, within reaching distance. Still I ignore him. My anger from his blunt betrayal in Ms. Pillsbury's office radiates through my body like a midsummer day's sun, unrelenting.<p>

"Rachel!" Finally, I feel his hand grab my upper arm, swinging me around towards him. Apparently my anger is not without company. I attempt to clench my fist, my broken and weezing fist that begs for my attention. It's practically screaming at me, begging for my physical attention amidst all this emotional angst. It's a bit of logic in the world of caged chaotic mental pain. It's raw, concrete, and, in some twisted way, comforting. Yes, the pain, the presence of feeling (even if physical) is a welcome relief to the despondent, apathetic, moaning days currently upon me. "Rachel," he repeats this time without all the ferocity, "We have to get you to the hospital. You're hand."

I bite my lip, struggling to agree. It just seems like so much work, such a daunting task in a world where all I really want is to do nothing ever again. I'm just too lazy, too impenetrably tired. Maybe it's important, a matter of first concern, but I really don't care. _I hurt my hand. It might be broken. The pain is bad. I should go to the doctor. But why? I can deal with the pain. I like the pain._ "Maybe tomorrow," I say softly, gently as if it's a passing thought.

But then Finn gives me those big, puppy dog eyes with his dopey way of getting exactly what he wants, using that voice he uses to get things done in Glee. "No Rach, we have to go now." And maybe it's just his natural ability to motivate and inspire, or maybe it's just my utter failure and laziness not to argue, but I give in. I bow my head and follow him to his car, pondering over how I'll get my own car home despite never voicing my concerns. The words are just too much effort to sputter out.

"You know I care about you," He says in the car. I nod my head because I do, because despite all the hurt that's occurred between us, I know he cares. But I also know that he's with Quinn, and that I'll never be enough for him. _He left me for her because he loves her more._

"Just not enough" I whisper under my breath, but it's not as quiet as intended. He wildy spins his head around towards me with a startled expression plastered on his face.

"What do you mean?"

"Forget it, Finn." I say coldly, I can practically feel the icicles in my voice.

"Don't do this, Rachel." He says, "Tell me what's wrong."

A tear starts to squiggle down my face, but I won't break down again, I swear it. "You care about me Finn. You care about me, but not enough that you want to be with me. It wasn't enough; so, you broke up with me. You care about me, but it's not as much as you care about Quinn."

Finn contorts his face, thinking for a few moments. Then he chuckles softly, and, in that voice that I always loved, he says, "Rachel, you're wrong. I love you."

My heart stops, freezes, and I think Finn' does too. Because his face turns red and the adorably dopey expression that he usually dawns makes way for a red, flustered look of embarrassment. His words were a mistake, a random sequence of letter strung together to produce a sentence that's meaning was unintended. "You love me?" I choke out.

He beats his hand on the driving wheel, thinking for a moment. "I don't think I ever stopped."

I don't know what to say. I'm speechless, stunned, but, worst of all, stuck in a world of no feelings. How long had I moped over Finn and our break up, regretted every selfish, conceited action I did that might merit Finn's justified anger with me? And now, as he admits his feelings for me, I feel nothing. It's pathetic, or maybe I'm just pathetic. "Rachel, I really care about you, and I want to help you through whatever you're going through. Romantic feelings, or not."

"B-but Quinn?" I stammer out, the name feeling like wax as it rips off of my tongue, sensitizing me to the situation around me.

"It's over, finally." He cracks a little smile, "You were right from the beginning, Rachel. You and I belong together. We have something special."

"I never said that."

"You did," he smiles, "frequently."

"I didn't know what I was talking about."

"Yes, you did," Finn says, nervously looking at my hand, "And, God, Rachel, I'm sorry, but you're hand looks disfigured."

"It's just a little swollen," I say. Finn gives me a disapproving look, before parking by urgent care. "You won't say anything, right? You won't tell them how I got it."

He's quiet for a moment, unresponsive. And suddenly the nerves, that have been absent for awhile now chill up to the surface, and the feeling of worry begins to take control of me. Maybe it's not a pleasant feeling, but at least it's a feeling.

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel IIX<strong>

* * *

><p>White lights, sterile floors and the scurried shuffle of ER nurses and doctors. I sigh with impatience, thrusting my head back into the unnecessary hospital bed assigned to me in the examining room. Finn chuckles softly at my frustration. "Could this take any longer?"<p>

He smiles meekly at me. "You want to sing a song to pass the time?"

"No," I crinkle my eyebrows as if to mock the very idea that I probably would have once jumped at, "Not really."

He bows his head in defeat, and I instantly feel guilty. He looks like a little kid that's just discovered that the Easter bunny is a fake.

I shut my eyes and take in a deep breath. Sometimes I just wish I could take a really long nap. I wish I could sleep for a whole year, and then wake up and be done with high school. That would be so perfect. To just do nothing, but sleep for a whole year, the idea literally gives me chills.

Nowadays, I don't really want much. Caring about things, trying to achieve, it all seems futile. But sleep and a blissful state of nothingness, well I suppose at the moment they're my greatest desires, my only motivation.

"What are you thinking about?" Finn asks.

"Nothing." And it's the truth.

"Come on," he says, "You have to talk to me, Rach. After everything today, you've got to be pretty stressed out."

But I'm not. I'm actually very relaxed, or I was. Now I'm starting to get irritated, something that seems to occur lately within a blink of an eye. "When will the doctor come?" I pick up my broken hand to draw emphasis, "How long does it take to develop an X-ray?"

"It's only been five minutes, Rach."

_Five minutes too long. Five minutes wasted. _But then again what's time? What does it really mean? We only get so much, and then we die. But what's a waste, and what's not? And does it even matter? Does anything even matter. Lately, it doesn't seem like it. Lately, I sometimes wish I didn't have anytime left.

Just then the Doctor walks in. "Well it's broken," she says, "A pretty nasty break, too. How'd you get it again?"

"She punched a wall," Finn speaks for me, and I instantly feel my face turn bright red.

The doctor purses her lips in an attempt not to smile. "Well that was smart," the tongue-in cheek sarcasm rolls of her tongue, and I instantly feel resentment towards her. She's young and really very pretty, and, in a weird way, she reminds me of Quinn. She's got the whole world at her fingertips, and she's too ignorant to relate to anyone else who isn't as fortunate as her.

Finn coughs, "She wasn't exactly in the best mental state." I give him a death glare, and he quickly averts his gaze to the floor, looking as if he's about to heel over from my fury. I could literally kill him after that comment. What does he think he's going to do? Get sarcastic, Dr. Barbie over there to give me some Prozac? I don't think so.

"Really?" the doctor rolls her eyes and starts making the cast, "So you're not going to be able to do much of anything for a while. No writing, no typing, and no texting with your right hand for at least six weeks. And don't even think about driving. You may want to-"

"Actually," Finn interrupts her, "Rachel hasn't been in the best mental state for a while now. She's been kind of depressed and irritable."

At this point I kick him in the shin, giving him a you-better-shut-up look. _Genius! Now the doctor's not going to be concerned about your mental instability, at all, after you punched a wall and kicked Finn right in front of her. _This time when the doctor says "Really?" there isn't a twinge of sarcasm or cynicism in her voice. And all I can think is that I'm screwed. She'll probably recommend me to anger management or have me committed in a Psych Ward.

My eyes avert to Finn and I realize that it is too late. He's already said what shouldn't have been said. He's already taken this too far. The red flags are up, and all I can hope is that I can toss this off as a bad day. But as she looks at me, analytical stares present, I sincerely doubt this.


	3. Part 3

**Part 3 "Pills for Pain"**

* * *

><p><strong> Rachel IX<strong>

* * *

><p>Little pills.<p>

Two of them staring at me, like a face down. They call for me; they scare me. I don't want them. I don't need them. I don't need the stigma of Prozac. I don't want to be medicated. But there isn't any use in trying to make my case.

When I declined to take the prescription, the doctor's said it wasn't an option. I'm a minor, and what I say, what I want is absolutely meaningless. They said I just need to take them. They'll make me happy; they'll make me better.

Maybe I don't want to be happy. Maybe I don't want to be better. Maybe I want to be miserable.

Maybe I want to be _trapped in the dark._

"Rachel," Daddy says, "Take it." So I do. I don't have the energy to argue. I don't have the energy to explain. And, I certainly don't have the energy to make them worry. But that should change. I should change. These little pills will make me change.

They'll make me happy. They'll make me better. But deep inside, under all the chemical alterations, I'll always be miserable. _I'll always be in the dark. _I'll always know, in some part of me, that every taunt, every rejection, every slushy, every lecture, they all meant something. But, instead of being nicer, making my life a little better, the world has offered me a cheap alternative. A Band-Aid for a bruise.

Prozac. No, thank you. But, then again, I never really had much of an option.

* * *

><p><strong>Finn VI<strong>

* * *

><p>Apparently, anti-depressants in teens can increase the suicide risk. So that means I've got to keep a bigger eye out for Rachel than before, not that I can imagine Rachel killing herself or anything. She's not that stupid. Although, to be honest, I never could imagine Rachel depressed before either.<p>

"Hey man," Puck says to me in the locker room after practice, "So I hear Rachel's dads are leaving town?"

"Yeah," I say hesitantly, knowing exactly what he's going to say, "But look I'm supposed to watch out for her, and I don't think throwing a party would be a good idea in her situation."

"Awww… come on," Puck says, "That's exactly what she needs-to have some fun, to live a little. She doesn't need to drink or anything."

"Listen dude, it's just not happening."

"I'll just ask Berry then," he says slamming his locker shut.

I grab his arm. Maybe, it's not the smartest idea, but I didn't really think about it. It was instinct, habit. I had to protect Rachel. "Don't."

He narrows his eyes, a little taken a back. He's calculating his next move. Is it worth the fight, punching me in the face? Probably not. "Alright, no party. I get it."

"Good," I remove my hand that was firmly gripping his shoulder, and rub it across my hair nervously.

"Yeah," he says leaning back up against the lockers, "So, what's up with you and Berry, anyways? Are you two like an item?"

"Not exactly," I say, "But we will be."

"Okay," he scoffs a little. Taking a step back, his voice changes, "But you know I'm a little tired of the hypocrisy. Maybe you're not good for her? After all, you're the reason Berry's gotten so screwed up."

That hurts, and so I punch him right in the face.

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel X<strong>

* * *

><p>It's at lunch when I hear the rumors, not that anyone bothers to tell me face-to-face. Why would they? I'm not worth the time.<p>

No, I have to overhear Artie, Kurt, Blaine, Mike, Tina, Brittany, Santana, Sam, and Mercedes talking about it at the table next to mine. I have to sit here, all alone, listening in onto their conversation. It's sort of sad, actually, but then everything is these days.

I remember when I used to sit with them, when I used to be a part of the conversation, the juicy gossip. Moving my obnoxious mouth with the veracity of an auctioneer. Wasn't it exciting? Then it stopped, slowly, gradually. No more conversations for me. I became an island, a lone ship, pulling away from any social activity whatsoever. Eventually, after a winter break filled with self-impose isolation, I moved to the table next to them. To be honest, there simply wasn't enough room at the table for me anymore. At the time I didn't care, but I did sort of expect them to notice. I was naive enough to believe that at least a few of them would have the decency to join me. Not quite. I became stuck here alone, a permanent lone wolf amongst hordes of cannibalistic packs.

A few weeks ago, Finn began to sit with me. He does all the taking usually, tolerating my silence, with an admirable understanding. At times other glee members have come to sit with us too- Puck, Mercedes, Kurt (always accompanied by Blaine, of course) and even Sam. But today, nobody. Not even Finn, an oddity considering I saw him in the morning. _He's probably tired of me. He must be getting annoyed. Or, maybe, it was all just a big joke, a big, hilarious dare. _That's probably it, but there is also that chance that he's simply given up on me. It'd make sense for him to finally realize that I'm a lost cause, a mistake that's just too hard to erase away. Even the Prozac doesn't seem to have an effect. No faux burst of euphoria has emerged victorious over the cloud of emptiness looming in my stomach.

But then I overhear Mike and Sam prattling on about the fight in the locker room. My stomach sinks a little, I wonder… I worrie. And, then, confirmation. No wonder Finn is nowhere to be found-he got in a brawl with Puck. Apparently, both emerged with black eyes and angry words. "Coach Bieste asked them why and…" The voices turn to whispers, congregated hands covering their mouths. Heads slyly turning to catch a peek at me. I know they're talking about me

The feeling of embarassment creeps up on me, accompanied with red cheeks, sweaty palms, and a rapid heartbeat. A feeling other than of the melancholy variety is almost foreign to me. Maybe the Prozac's working, just not in the ways I'd prefer. It makes me sick, my mind fluttering with shame.

My guess is that they've caught me being nosy, realized that I'm very rudely listening to them. They're making fun of me now. I know it. I've convinced myself of it. I can almost hear the vicious words my so-called 'friends' are saying, ringing out in my head. _Pathetic. Loser. Loner. Nosy. Ugly. Stupid._

The guilt fills my stomach, the dread, the self-hate. I shouldn't have stared. I shouldn't have listened. I shouldn't have even come to lunch where I am clearly unwanted. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

I have to get out of her, far away from the angry whispers and cruel glances. I need to hide my face, burning with the shame I've inflicted upon myself. No wonder, I'm a loser. How could I not be, when I'm constantly doing stupid, stupid things. I quickly bow my head, slide out of the cafeteria chair, trash my tray, and move to the glass doors seperating the cruel heirarchy of a high school cafeteria from the rest of the world. My destination is clear—anywhere but here.

* * *

><p><strong>Finn VI<strong>

* * *

><p>I'm suspended for the rest of the day and Monday, too, which is fine because I sort of need a break. Plus, I have to pay extra attention to Rachel this weekend. (Maybe, I should spend the weekend at her house. Or she could spend it at mine. It's just that it's probably not a good idea for her to be alone right now. It's probably not a good idea at all.)<p>

My thoughts are interrupted by a phone call. I check to see the number, avoiding Mom's avid shrills over my fight and subsequent disciplinary referrals, or Burt's disappointed lectures. But to my surprise it's Kurt-even worse. My mind wheels with what he'll say, and I really don't want to pick up. I ignore it, but, after the ringing stops, it reignites under the ruse of Mercedes' number. I'm tempted to ignore that call too, but I imagine that it's Kurt, frustrated that I'm ignoring his number. Obviously, he's determined to talk to me, and I don't need any more lectures than necessary tonight.

As soon as I touch the little green button to accept his call. I hear an unflattering panic. Sure enough it's Kurt. "God Finn," Kurt says, "How could you do something like this?"

"Relax, Man," I say. My step-brother can be a little dramatic sometimes, actually scratch that. He's very dramatic, all the time. "Nobody got hurt. And Figgins says it won't look that bad on college transcripts. People get in fights all the time, and Puck sort of deserved it."

"What are you talking about?" Kurt says, an unexpected grudge in his voice, "Do you mean the fight? No, I'm referring to Rachel. Now, please, put her on the phone, and tell her she's being ridiculous."

"Rachel's not with me…" I say, utterly confused, "What's going on?"

"She's not with you?" Kurt's voice gets high, "Then how did she get home. She can't drive with that broken hand."

"Umm…" I start to get worried, "Did she leave school?"

"Yes," Kurt says, his voice is still panicking. "I mean, I think so."

"Kurt," I cut him off, "What happened?"

"Well she stormed out of the cafeteria," Kurt says, "And when I saw her at her locker. I went to talk to her, and she was acting strangely…"

"What do you mean?"

"Well she said goodbye," Kurt says, "She gave me a hug, and told me that she had to leave."

"Leave where?" I ask him, the worry takes over my body, and I change the direction of my destination. I need to go to Rachel's house.

"Well she didn't specify," Kurt says, the words starting to sink in. "I just assumed she meant the school. I thought things were too overwhelming or something. So I said 'Rachel, you're missing a Glee practice right before sectionals?' and she told me that she wouldn't be at sectionals."

I start to wonder, think… But I can't let my mind go there. I'm just being paranoid. "Why?"

"She was evasive," Kurt sputters out, like he's on trial, "I was confused, and she wasn't exactly submissive to my questioning. She told me that we didn't need her. That there were tons of great voices, and we had enough people without her dragging us down. She said we'd all be better off without her, and, when I asked her if she was quitting glee, she simply said she wouldn't be coming to practices anymore."

Now Kurt's crying, "When I told her she wasn't thinking straight, that she couldn't survive without Glee. She just looked at me with these terribly sad eyes, told me 'goodbye Kurt', and walked away. Oh god, Finn, you don't think-. Do you? Oh shit!"

Suicide. No, not possible. Rachel wouldn't, she couldn't. We're just being paranoid. Quitting glee club doesn't imply… "I don't know," I say, muffling the tears coming from my voice, "I'm not sure. But I think maybe."

I start speeding. Rachel's practically my whole world. I can't even imagine a world without her existence, a world where she commits the ultimate act of self-harm. She wouldn't dare, would she? She knows how much I need her, doesn't she.

"I've been trying to call her, but she won't pick up."

I can't even hear Kurt's voice; the words muffle together as he rambles on and on. I just need to find Rachel now; I need to save her or stop her, or just make sure she's alright, because I really do love her.

"Kurt," I command, cutting him off, get everyone in glee to look for her, now. Look at the school; look for her by the school. Tell Mr. Schu what's happening. And call Puck to help scout the streets.

"Okay," Kurt says, weakly, "And, Finn."

"Yeah?" I say, throat hoarse from choking back the sobs that want to overtake me, "She's probably fine, right?"

"Yeah," I say, even though I'm not entirely sure, "It's probably nothing."

"But Finn," Kurt says quickly, "If it is, know that I love you, brother."

I choke back the tears, "You too, but now we have to find Rachel."

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel XI<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Warning: The following parts could be triggering (Thoughts of suicide)<strong>

When things go wrong, they hurt. They hurt your heart, your soul, your mind, and your body. For years I've suffered. For years I've endured. Abandonment from my own mother, neglect from my busy fathers, loneliness from a lack of friends, taunts from everyone: jocks, cheerios and my fellow gleeks, alike, and the considerable heartache from lost love, has plagued me. And I'm not sure when, but, at some point, the carefully constructed walls I'd put up crumbled down, and I was forced to realize how empty and desolate my life truly is.

The bleak darkness of being utterly unwanted consumed me, swallowed me whole. Suddenly and, still, slowly (A paradox, I know) the bubbly effervescence I once portrayed, the fiery passion I once felt for everything in life, and the strength I had relied on to overcome all of my troubles and difficulties disappeared. They were obliterated by the never-ending slushies and ostracism I felt not just at school, but at home too.

I feel alone. I feel lost. I feel dead.

And due to the brief flicker of love and glimpse of what happiness could be, I'd felt from Finn's supposed efforts, I realize what I'm missing. What I will always miss. I will never be like those girls who have everything at their finger tips. I will never be well-liked. I will never be sweet and kind. I will never be pretty. I will never be a first-priority. I will never be irreplaceable. I will never be freakishly intelligent. So I might as well never be.

I know the truth, how they don't like me, how it's all out of pity. And I will not be pitied. Once I'm "better" things will return to normal, the lies of faux care will disappear. But not if I disappear first.

Maybe death is pleasant, maybe it's better than this… treachery? It's just that I'm tired of feeling empty, tired of being lost. And sitting alone, hearing them talk at lunch, running away from the table, and realizing that nobody cared enough to chase after, it triggered this feeling. A feeling I hadn't felt in a long time. Hope? Hope for what though? There was nothing. No, I felt hope for relief of this life. I felt hope for death.

I know suicide isn't a great option, but I feel trapped in this world, _trapped in the dark_. And there isn't much left to do, except live. And the idea of living with this awful pain of nothingness is simply not an option. There is one choice, and that is death.

I remember at one time I felt happy. Perfect. Nothing could stop me. The whole world was at my finger tips. That was when I was just a child, naive, stupid, really. I didn't have a taste of reality. My vivacity was untouched by years of highschool rejection and a dose of heartbreak. I hadn't known that happiness disappears at some point in life, and, when it does, it never comes back.

I thought I could be a broadway star, but now I've realized that I'm a dime a dozen.

I thought I could find love, but now I realize that only brings pain.

I thought I could be liked, but now I realize my personality is obnoxious and unlikeable.

I thought I could be something special, but now I realize I'm better off as nothing at all.

I thought I could live a life and through all the heart ache I would prevail, but now I know that there's no use fighting the inevitable.

I told Kurt good-bye, when he walked up to me in the hall to ask how I was doing. He was only being nice, only searching for some fresh gossip, and only pitying my poor self. He doesn't really like me, not really. So I told him good-bye.

He's been nice enough, frenemies of sorts. He'd insult me up and down right all through Sophomore year, and yes, this year we have become friends of sorts, but not in its entirety. Anyhow, he deserves a good-bye, some sort of condolence.

He asked me what I meant. He asked about glee. Because really glee is all he cares about, that's the only reason anyone ever talks to me. They just want my voice to win; despite proving that many of them would much rather I'd disappear. They want the solos for themselves and for months I've obliged. They're all good, and they all could win without me. I just drag the group down with my grandma clothes.

I say good-bye, and I go to the office. I tell them I have a stomachache. For most students they'd like a call from my parents, but the secretary's been informed by my father's that they are very, very busy, almost never at home or free to pick up trivial calls from the school. I'm responsible, they think. So they let me go, no questions asked.

I don't know what to do now. I just don't know how to do it. But I do it.

I leave the school, and walk. My broken arm has eliminated my chances of driving home, doing the deed in the comfort of my bed. So, I'm stuck walking. I know nearby there's a department store that will have some Tylenol. That will be perfect. Then I can just walk off, chug the bottle down with a bottle of water.

That will be nice, I decide.

That will be nice, indeed.

And for this moment, I feel an overwhelming sense of peace. The decision. The end. The future. This is all too perfect. An idea I should have considered months ago, but avoided because of society's propaganda.

I know the truth. They really wouldn't care, not really. They might be sad at first, a little bit guilty or upset, but by this time next year they will all be much happier and better off. My dad's won't have me tying them down from their real dream of travelling and business trips. They can use the money they spend on me for things they'd prefer, adopt another kid, the little boy they'd always wanted, to train for stardom, instead. Shelby won't have to feel the guilt of leaving me behind. The kids at school have always told me to kill myself, to jump of a cliff, to do the world a favor and get rid of myself. Now the world will be granted. The glee kids will all be able to shine more and stop complaining of my presence of stage time. Quinn will get her wish of my disappearance. Santana won't have to endure my "troll" face and freakish "man-hands" presence anymore. Mr. Schue won't have to deal with my dramatic shenanigans any longer. The whole world will be relieved of my obnoxious, annoying personality.

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel XII<strong>

* * *

><p>I'm in Wal-Mart, browsing the aisle of endless possibilities. Painkillers. It's sort of fitting that I'd overdose on a painkiller. It will certainly do its job. After all, I am a pain. I'm in pain. And it will kill me. Kill my pain. It's a hope. It's a light in this darkness, and it's calling me. Guiding me, pulling me through<p>

Originally, I wanted a quicker death, a painless death, but an overdose will have to do. At least everything will be over by tonight, because it would just be a lot easier, a lot easier for everyone.

It's raining outside. It started sprinkling just as I started approaching the strip mall, heaven, or probably hell, beckoning me to its gate. The tears I've cried thrusting me to a gallop towards the warm embrace of never-ending aisles of a consumerist paradise. The sun disappeared, and the clouds closed in. And everything was just as it ought to be. The main source of light coming from the doors of the Walmart, housing my sweet escape. If there was ever a sign, this was it.

I ponder over what will be faster, less painful, more unavoidable to deter. Extra-strength or Rapid release. I decide on rapid release. I figure that if I take the whole bottle it will be strong enough to kill me. It's funny, that this is the only decision I've made that's actually mattered to me in weeks. Maybe the Prozac is working. It's just not in the way they want it.

I pick up the little bottle of Tylenol, and walk past the aisles of potions and lotions that promise to cure acne, smooth frizz and erase stretch marks. I stop for a second when I pass the CD bins, and see one I'd eyed for months, on sale. I decide that it's cheaper than iTunes, and really, why not? But then I remember that I won't be listening to any CD's anymore. That I've got other plans.

The CD makes me think of all the things I will miss, and I realize there isn't much. Or there isn't much that will miss me. They'll all be a lot better off. But my mind is stuck on Finn. Stuck on his dorky smile and clumsy dance moves. Stuck on the way he kissed me that first time sophomore year. Stuck on the way he told me he loved me. Stuck on a lot.

And for a second, probably even less, I reconsider. I think about what could be, what should be. I think about being happy with Finn. I think about the future, and life. But the thing is, when I think about, I realize that I'll never be happy, that I don't deserve to be happy and that happiness probably doesn't exist. And Finn would be a lot happier without me. Quinn had said it before. The two of them will get married. He'll take over Burt's shop and she'll be a successful real estate agent. And they'll have a good life; I won't be around to screw it up. He won't have to endure slushies because of me dragging down his popularity. He won't have to work so hard to making me happy, when he could just focus of football and popularity. He won't have to give up so many things, when he wouldn't have even considered alternatives when I came about. Honestly, his life will be a whole lot better without me.

Everybody's life will be better off without me. Maybe they'll be sad for a bit. A few will mourn, and try to find some guilt in this whole thing. But they will be better off in the long run. They'll be happier without me. And they may not realize it at first, they may not realize it's because I'm gone and they may not ever admit it. But it will be true. And I think about writing a letter to explain why it's important to remove my obnoxious self as another nuisance to their lives. But then I remember my hand's broken, and I need to stop talking and annoying people. Besides, nobody would bother reading it anyways. They'd just roll their eyes and think about how it was just another one of my dramatic, attention-whore moments. The world doesn't need another wanna-be starlet whose only attribute is faux egoism that's already been dimmed in the last couple of lights.

The world doesn't need me. I don't need the world. And this is our break up.

* * *

><p><strong>Rachel XIII<strong>

* * *

><p>The Wal-Mart cashier just rolls her eyes as she goes to scan the Tylenol. "I need ID," she says.<p>

"Why?" I stammer, wondering if someone figured out my plan and leaked it to the whole world. It takes me a little bit to realize that would never happen. It takes me awhile to realize how self-centered that seems. It takes me awhile to realize this isn't where I belong. I'm just some unimportant 17 year old, that would be better off to the world dead.

"It's a law," she says, bored voice to the key, "You have to be at least 18."

I should have just lied, should have brought my fake ID, and should have just been smarter. "That's stupid!" I say, but it's probably more like yelling "What am I going to do with it? Overdose? I just have a headache."

The lady sighs and lets off a sarcastic "sorry" before yelling out that she can take another customer in her aisle. I want to tell her she can't, that I need these pills now, but I don't. Instead, with tears in my eyes, I turn around to put it back. I cannot believe that this brilliant plan is ending because of some stupid rule.

That's when I hear the best words I hear in a long time. "Hey Rachel!" I turn around to see Puck smiling, and I instantly fear discovery. He comes over to ask me what's wrong. And my hands slide over the Tylenol, tears in my eyes. He begins to stammer on about why I'm not at school, when he notices my tears and the Tylenol in my hands. "Rach, what's wrong?"

That's when the lies come to my mouth, improv at its best. "My migraine is killing me, but that lady won't let me buy anything because I'm not 18."

"Rach it'll be fine," he says wiping her eyes, "I'll get them for you."

A smile bursts through my tears. "Really?" I say like a little girl who's discovered she's going to Disney world. He just nods his head. "Thanks."

"No problem," he says, taking the package and his six pack to the counter. He flashes the woman his fake ID, and she rolls her eyes. Still she thankfully takes the money and bags the contents of our loot. "See, no big deal."

I follow him to his car; he unknowingly lures me in with the inevitable death. That is when his phone rings. I don't eavesdrop on his call, not really. My mind is to fixated on the contents of the bag, and when I'll be able to procure my goods. But then he starts looking at me strangely, holding the plastic bag a little tighter.

"Okay, yeah, fine. Will do," He says, before flipping the phone shut and pressing the gas pedal. As he drives his eyes glance repetitively from the bag to me. His anxiety is plastered on his face.

In the end, I decide it's just my paranoia, my self-centered ego taking center stage. I remind myself there is not worldwide warning for Rachel's suicide. No one knows but me. Still just to appease my nerves, I ask. "What was that about?"

"Nothing," he says, "Just Finn."

"Finn?" My nose crinkles in confusion. "Didn't you just get in a fight? Isn't that why you're suspended."

"Yeah," he says, "But we're best friends, we just had a little disagreement about how to handle someone we cared about."

"Quinn?" I ask, jealous of the glee guy's fawning over her.

He scoffs, "No, you."

"Me?" I say, taken aback, but the shock leaves me as fast as the denial comes. "You're so full of BS." "No, I'm not," he says.

"You two wouldn't get in a fight over me."

"We did," he says. Clearly trying to emphasize something, to make me feel better. "We both really care about you, a lot. You're important to us. Especially to him. You know Finn really loves you."

Before he continues his rant I firmly tell him to "Stop!"

But this only eggs him on. "Stop what? Telling you the truth. Wake up Rachel! Stop throwing yourself a pity party. People care about you, is it that hard to believe?"

I look at him, tears once more gliding down my face. "Please, just stop. I know I'm infuriating, but I don't want to get you in a car accident."

Just as he's about to respond, we turn onto another familiar a road, a road that is not in the direction of Mckinley or my house. "This isn't how you get to my house."

He ignores me, "You don't really have a headache, do you?"

"You can't prove anything," the words stumble out of my mouth, admittance sputtered amongst a challenge. The tears begin to form then, in his eyes.

"Why would you do that Rachel? Why?"

Like he needs an answer! Like he needs a reminder of how miserable I've been!

Not an hour passes by that I don't have death in my forefront. I imagine myself dangling from the stage lights, rope tied neatly around my neck. I picture my wrists tragically cut bleeding out on the choir room floor. I picture pills soaked up into my blood stream as I peacefully fall asleep on my bed for the last time. The idea won't leave me, the temptations don't subside.

It's not selfishness. People would be better off without me. It's a fact. I would be happier, and the whole world would eventually too. Things, life—I'm tired of it. And so I was going to simply end it. Life had different plans for me, however.

"What was your plan? Take a shit tone of these pills and then go off and die on the side of the road. What about Broadway? What about New York?"

"They won't happen. Nothing like that will ever happen to me! I'm not good enough. I'm not lucky enough. I will never be really happy."

"You know that's shit," Puck says, "You know you're going to be a star. You're going to make all of us Lima Losers jealous. You'll be in some fancy Broadway musical, with some fancy penthouse, and some fancy family. You can make it, Rachel."

"You don't know that."

"I believe that."

"I don't."

I could feel the tears falling out of my eyes, my angry confessional coming to a close. "Why do you care anyway? Why can't you just give me the Tylenol and let me go?"

"Are you fucking serious right now Rachel?" His lips quiver, "Are you fucking serious?"

"What do you think?" I cry, putting my bulbous cast in the air, "What do you think?"

"Calm down Rachel."

"I've been calm," I sputter out, tears steadily streaming down my eyes like it's the fourth of July parade. "But I'm tired of feeling nothing. I'm tired of feeling nothing but tired and sad."

"I know," his voice gets low, eerily so, and his gaze gets ever so intense. The transition is frightening. One minute he's Puck and the next he's Noah reaching across to grab my hand. "We're going to get you through this. I promise."

Those aren't the words I want to here. I just want him to say goodbye and hand over the Tylenol, but, unfortunately, the chances of that are close to nil.

"It scares me Rachel," he continues, uninterrupted as I think steadily for something to get me out of this predicament, "That if I hadn't have found you, if Kurt hadn't figured it out, if Finn hadn't given that call or if that lady hadn't refused to sell you the pills, you might be killing yourself right now. You were that close."

I'm crying now, thinking of how near I was to death, how I could almost smell the dark disappearance of this world.

"Too close," I whisper, but he ignores me with his unwavering stare.

"You're meant to be alive, Rachel," Puck says, "And I know… I know life's been tough, a lot of it has been my fault—, but you've always been one tough chick. You never let it bother you then, so why now?"

"Noah, I didn't choose this."

"I know," he says.

That's when I turn around from his attention to see Finn, visibly upset guarding my passenger door. If I had thought this confrontation was too much bear, I know I'm about to get a rude awakening.

* * *

><p><strong> Rachel XIV<strong>

* * *

><p>He won't let go of me, won't relinquish me from his arms. Instead he just holds me tight, whispering words that I can't comprehend. I can feel the intent gaze of Puck and Kurt, but try to ignore them. My eyes shut close; the embarassment of my situation is overwhelming me. It seems like the world is falling apart, and yet it remains.<p>

I want to break free, but I'm too afraid to move. I want to say something, but I'm too afraid how they'll respond. I want to runaway, but I'm too afraid it will make it worse. I want to disappear, but they just won't let me.

"How could you do this?" I hear somebody ask, unable to identify whose voice it is.

"I didn't do anything," I whisper, "You made sure of that."

"Everything's going to be alright Rachel." Finn whispers with a visibly disturbed voice, as I begin to cry into his warm chest, "It's going to be okay."

Then it happens, my surroundings close in on me. Apparently, I was too upset to understand what was going on, to realize my prison. "Why are we at the hospital?"

"Rachel..."

"No!" I shout, "Why?"

"You tried to kill yourself."

"I didn't! I didn't swallow the pills, so why do I need to go to the hospital!"

"You could try it again," he says _'it'_ with a stumble, unable to say what really happened.

"I won't," I whimper, "I won't."

"Rachel," he repeats.

"I swear," I say, practically begging, "Besides, how is being hospitalized going to cheer me up."

"Rachel," he says, his voice tearing me apart.

"You can't make me," I say, "You're not my dad, and you have no proof."

"Are you serious?" Noah interrupts while Finn remains quiet, "I'm literally about to drag you in there."

I give Puckerman a nasty glare, before looking at Finn. "Please, don't make me, Finn."

"I'm not going to give up on you. You talk about being trapped in the dark. Stop letting the darkness consume you. Fight for the light."

Tears start streaming down my face, and even Noah mutters a 'wow'. But I just shake my head, ignoring his speech.

"Do you remember that feeling, when we loved each other, when we were happy. I want you to love me again. I want you to be happy again."

"I'll never forgive you, if you do this to me Finn. You're going to ruin my life."

"I think it might be the only way to save it."

I don't say anything.

"It's for you're own good," he whispers.

I look at him, overwhelmed.

"Please try to get better, Rachel," he pauses, "I miss you; I miss your smile. And don't think I can live in this world without you. I just love you too much."

For whatever reason, I believe him this time, acknowledge his sincerity. _The darkness doesn't disappear, but for a moment I see a glimmer of light. The door to the black box is is creaked open, and my escape is imminent. I feel Finn grab my hand, and I know the walk won't be easy. It may be a fight, but with him I can make it. _For the first time there's hope, something I haven't felt in a long time.

"I love you, too." I whisper, "And, I understand. I'm ready."

_It's dark. And the light flashes, not yet illuminating the room. And the darkness hasn't disappeared; it won't for a while. But maybe, it will, and, maybe, it won't. I don't know the future. It might not ever be completely gone, but I know I have to fight for it. I can't just sit in the darkness. They're calling for me to come out of the darkness and into the light. I think, I should follow._

**The End**

**Thanks to all those who read, favorited, followed and reviewed this. It means alot. I hope you all liked the changes. I just thought it should be compacted a bit. Let me know what you think. **


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